Huck’s eyes glowed.
“That’s bully. Plenty bully enough for me. Just you gimme the hundred dollars and I don’t want no di’monds.”
“All right. But I bet you I ain’t going to throw off on di’monds. Some of ’em’s worth twenty dollars apiece—there ain’t any, hardly, but’s worth six bits or a dollar.”
“No! Is that so?”
“Cert’nly—anybody’ll tell you so. Hain’t you ever seen one, Huck?”
“Not as I remember.”
“Oh, kings have slathers of them.”
“Well, I don’ know no kings, Tom.”
“I reckon you don’t. But if you was to go to Europe you’d see a raft of ’em hopping around.”
“Do they hop?”
“Hop?—your granny! No!”
“Well, what did you say they did, for?”
“Shucks, I only meant you’d see ’em—not hopping, of course—what do they want to hop for?—but I mean you’d just see ’em—scattered around, you know, in a kind of a general way. Like that old humpbacked Richard.”
“Richard? What’s his other name?”
“He didn’t have any other name. Kings don’t have any but a given name.”